


Hunter's Moon

by Jadzibelle



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blood moon, Halloween, M/M, Samhain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-27
Updated: 2015-10-27
Packaged: 2018-04-28 10:41:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5087590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jadzibelle/pseuds/Jadzibelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Samhain night, and the Hunter's Moon rises red.  The Wolf is roused and loose, and there is magic in the moonlight...</p>
<p>Chris is trying to prevent a slaughter.  Peter has other plans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hunter's Moon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Arabwel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arabwel/gifts).



> So sorry, lovely, I could not find your prompt letter. I hope this will entertain, regardless.
> 
> Rating and warning for some violence against animals.

_The Harvest Moon has come and gone_

_October’s reach is drawing on_

_Samhain makes the walls grow thin_

_it twists and riles the beast within_

 

Shadows on every surface.  Scents on the wind, dry air and empty sparks, pumpkin baking and cheap wax, dust and frost, sugar and sweat and polyester and phosphorous, _humanity_.  Familiar, significant.  The human would understand, but it is the Wolf who answers, who rises up from a broken bed to pace the edges of his den.  Some part of him recoils at this, fears it, was caught _unprepared_.  He is not supposed to be unprepared.

It is too late for regrets.  It is too late for preparations.  The Other Side is calling, whispers through the veil, shadows on every surface, _death_ on the wind.  The Wolf must hunt, must answer the call.  He has no choice.  He is a creature of magic, and it is Samhain, and he cannot ignore what he is.

He paces, back and forth, back and forth.  It is almost time.  He can feel it.  Soon.  Soon.  Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

_Soon_.

 

_When Hunter’s Moon begins to rise_

_red as blood or alphas’ eyes_

_then oh then the fun shall start_

_The Wolf will run with pounding heart_

 

“We have a problem.”

Chris glared at the phone, because it couldn’t possibly be anything _but_ a problem, if Stiles was calling him.

“What problem?”

“Do you know what day it is?”

“Been doing this a very long time, Stiles, I know what day it is,” he said, voice flat.  “What’s the problem?”

“All of our wolves are accounted for except one,” Stiles said, an edge in his voice.

“And you’re only realizing this _now_?” Chris demanded, glancing out the window.  The sun was all but down, the light thin and cold, and the moon would be rising in less than half an hour.  “Which wolf?”

“...”  The hesitation was not a good sign.  If it was Scott, if it were Derek, Stiles would be frantic and loud and _not hesitating_.

“Stiles.”

“...Peter,” Stiles said, and Chris blinked, felt a chill he wouldn’t bother trying to deny.  Peter was the worst possible option, unstable and unpredictable in the best of circumstances, and with Samhain and a blood moon, the _Hunter’s_ moon, on the rise...

“How did you miss this?” Chris bit out, not that he expected a useful answer.

“Look, I’m keeping track of an entire _pack_ of supernatural creatures, over here, and some of them are _tricky_ , okay, you have no idea what Kira’s put me through in the last hour, I _noticed_ when I _noticed_ ,” Stiles snapped back, and Chris was going to have _words_ with Deaton, with the Sheriff, because they were _supposed_ to be monitoring things, it wasn’t _supposed_ to be up to a single teenage boy to keep the McCall-Hale _mess_ in line.

“Where is he?”

“If I knew that, he wouldn’t be unaccounted for,” Stiles said sharply.  “Last time anyone heard from him, he was out by the Preserve.”

“I’m on it.”  Chris hung up, not bothering with any further politeness- it probably _wasn’t_ the kid’s fault, honestly, but _blame_ was for later.  Now, now he had a moderately malevolent wolf to track down in the middle of the biggest convergence of moon-influenced _fuckery_ in three decades, on a night when the streets would be teeming with innocent, defenseless children.

A _clever_ wolf, one who knew hunters, knew _him_.

What a fucking _mess_.

 

_the woods are still and deep and dark_

_the Hunter seeks to find his mark_

_he has a duty to be done_

_to end the Wolf’s malicious run_

 

The first body he found was a deer.  Blood stained the leaf litter, soaked into the soft dirt, filled the air with the stink of iron rust.  He’d seen messier kills, but not many, and this...  Peter hadn’t been this messy, this out of control, even half-crazed as Alpha.  His kills then had been _pointed_ , but not savage.

Chris did not like what that implied about Peter’s current state, particularly when he was tracking him _alone_.

The second body was just _scraps_.  Rabbit, Chris was pretty sure, but either way, not reassuring.

Another deer.  Two more rabbits.

A coyote, killed clean and quick, and _that_ was pointed.  Chris hoped that Stiles had Malia well in hand, that the ensorceled chains Deaton had made up in preparation for the night were _working_.

He went deeper into the woods, following the trail.  At least Peter wasn’t heading into town.

Yet.

 

_hunted now the Hunter is_

_the Wolf would claim what should be his_

_a merry chase the Wolf would lead_

_before he answers Samhain’s need_

 

The Wolf knows the scent that trails him.  Has known it since he was little more than a pup.  It is linked to the Woman of Fire, but it is not hers.  It is linked to the Lost One, the once-mate of the Alpha, but it is not _her_ scent either.  This scent is male, is tinged with grief and pain, sadness that never flees, a burden that sits too heavy on strong shoulders.  This scent was once young and vital and _pleasing_ , was once _tempting_.

Could be tempting again.  The Wolf does appreciate strength, and determination, and _cleverness_ , and this one, this one is strong and determined and clever.

And afraid.

The Wolf strikes out, wild, savage, destroys another hapless _thing_ , and considers.  There is _power_ in the air tonight, the sort of power the Wolf had once, but lost.  The sort of power that makes his eyes burn red, even if he has lost that right.

Tonight, with the veil thin and the magic calling, the Wolf can make for himself one more.

The man within laughs with bitter irony- to turn a hunter, an _Argent_ , would be a coup.  To turn _this_ Argent would be a waste.  The man within is _fond_ of this Argent, would rather not see him die nobly and foolishly.

The Wolf only knows that this one is _liked_ , and that is enough.

The Wolf slows his pace, makes his trail more obvious, and makes for a hollow encircled by oaks.  There is magic to be tapped, there.

...Perhaps, the man within thinks, perhaps it will not be such a waste.  If Chris is foolish enough to cross the boundaries of the hollow...  Perhaps.

 

_deeper deeper into the night_

_the Hunter braces for a fight_

_the Wolf plans his ambush near_

_bares his teeth in savage leer_

 

Chris kept his gun raised as he broke into the small clearing between a handful of tan oaks, following the trail.  He was close, he knew, was-

-a hiss, a _shiver_ in the air, and Chris twisted, saw a trembling sort of _edge_ to the air.  Saw nothing beyond it, not the path he’d been following, not a trace of the world _outside_ the hollow, and his eyes went to the trees, _seven oaks circled_ -

-a flash of red.  Alpha red.  No, that- he fired, once-twice-thrice, but Peter was _fast_ , was not the hulking brute he’d been as Alpha, was sinuous and limber and moving lower to the ground than Chris had expected, and there were fangs buried deep in his side before he could adjust.  Before he could even begin to _understand_ , and Peter- and it was _Peter_ , recognizably so, despite the strange form and impossible red eyes- tore the gun from his hands and tossed it aside, dragged the blade from his belt and flung it toward one of the trees with enough force that human strength would never get it loose.

And backed away, broke off his attack, and it took Chris a moment to understand, scrambling back.

Why, _why_ disarm him and _stop_ , what-

Alpha red.  A single bite.

“ _No_ ,” Chris snarled, and the wolf snarled back, bared his teeth in a dangerous grin.

“ _Yes_.”

Chris made a play for his gun, but the moon was _up_ , was high enough that the light filtered down through the bare branches of the oaks, was hot on his skin and in his blood.  Peter blocked him, kept him from reaching his weapon, and the heat in his blood grew worse, the moon dragging on his mind, pulling, pulling-

“ _Mine_ ,” Peter said, the word low and rough and _sure_.

Chris felt the shift, felt the _pull_ , felt the moon.  Felt the Wolf.

Growled a challenge.   _Not yet_.

Peter grinned.

 

_entered there into the hollow_

_Wolf first, Hunter followed_

_but when they make their way at dawn_

_ Wolf and Wolf and Hunter gone _

 

 

 

 


End file.
